The Ranger of the North
by Sweeney B
Summary: A Ranger adventures across Middle Earth with a band of followers and an entourage from Gondor.
1. Over The Hills And Far Away

**Ah, the exciting rush of a fresh story. This first chapter is dedicated to the lovely pheonlynx for two reasons; her birthday is today and some sort of present is customary, and her help in getting this story of the ground was invaluable. I will try to update this story every Sunday, which means it will advance fairly quickly (at least, faster than my other stories). Thank you all for reading, and Tolkien owns all Lord of the Rings content, not I. **

The arrow slid back across the dark wood silently as Jeroihan pulled the string back and exhaled deeply. His quarry, a small doe, grazed on the sparse pickings scattered across the forest floor. Jeroihan was about to release the string when a yell cut through the treeline. "Jeroihan!" His gaze was averted for a second as the deer bolted. He quickly took aim and shot, the arrow missing its target by a hand's width and embedding itself in a nearby tree. Frustrated with his rushed shot, he stomped over to the tree and pulled his arrow out a little harder than necessary. "Jeroihan!" The caller soon rushed into view, wearing the dark green garb of a Dunedain ranger, a garb that matched that of Jeroihan's. "This had best be important little brother, because you're going to be the one explaining to Harrasil why we're not eating deer tonight. You know he gets ill-tempered when he's hungry." Jeroihan stood across the clearing from younger brother and fellow ranger Calathorn, who shared his worn, craggy features and stocky build on account of their common blood. "Why, did you miss? But surely the great hunter never misses?" Calathorn's jovial taunt brightened Jeroihan's manner and he replied in a good humour. "You made me miss. So it doesn't count. What do you need me for?" Calathorn's fierce smile faded a little as he replied "Surely you've not forgotten? The Steward of Gondor needs us to guard a procession that's going all across the land. They're saying we're even going to Harad, saying there's a war brewing." Jeroihan rolled his eyes and grumbled back. "Oh aye, the procession. Forgive me for my lack of excitement. I relish the thought of taking orders from a soft Gondor nobleman." Calathorn shook his finger cheekily at Jeroihan as they walked back to the Dunedain encampment and shot back a reply laced with childish taunting. "Now, now brother. You're always bossing us around; it's about time you knew how it feels. Might do you some good." Jeroihan smiled and laughed "I'm in charge because I know what I'm doing. And the Chieftain appointed me as second in command under Eradan. Now be quiet, it looks like they're here." Jeroihan and Calathorn stood at the edge of the forest and looked out across the plains of Gondor, onto a wide collection of large, orc-skin tents that was the Dunedain encampment, bolstered by the addition of several silk tents in the livery of Gondor. The envoys of the Steward Denethor the Second had come seeking the help of the Rangers of the North.

Jeroihan stalked through the camp towards the Gondor delegation, his irritable mood worsening as he approached his target. Guards directed him towards a large gazebo that stood apart from the throng of tents, where a small crowd was gathered. Making his way through the gathering, he heard his name called. Turning to see Eradan, the Ranger in charge of the camp, call him over, he slipped past the extravagantly dressed nobles from Gondor to the small group. Eradan was stood with four conceited aristocrats, three men and one woman, from the city of Gondor; one was clad in ornate armour, more for show than actual protection and the other three were clothed in what Jeroihan assumed was the latest fashion from Lothlorien or some other such place. Eradan was quick to speak, before Jeroihan had time to insult the nobles. "Ranger, these are the illustrious individuals you will be escorting." He waved a hand offhandedly at the two men garbed in profligate robes, much to their disgust. "May I present the advisors to the Steward, Tuor and Huor, sons of Turambar." He gestured to the other two members of the group, "And this is Lady Lothelawen and her guard-captain, Anarion." Jeroihan nodded his greetings at the hostile strangers, noticing that Anarion was stood a little too close to Lothelawen than a guard-captain should. With the obligatory pleasantries, if they were such, over they left, Anarion's hand at Lothelawen waist, guiding her away from the crowds. Jeroihan gestured subtly to Eradan, who leant in to Jeroihan to speak. "Those two. Are they lovers? Or is he controlling her?" Eradan stole a glance in the mentioned couple's direction and replied "A little of both I think. The blue-bloods from Gondor tell us humble folk very little, but it sounds to me like he gives her orders, not the other way around." Jeroihan nodded, before continuing "You aren't seriously ordering me to go with these wretches, are you sir?" Eradan raised an eyebrow in response, "Are you defying the orders of your commander, Ranger?" Jeroihan shook his head, his tone grim. "Of course not, sir. I just don't find pleasure in babysitting soft nobles." Eradan chuckled and clasped Jeroihan's shoulder. "And that's exactly why I'm sending you. Your 'displeasure' will keep you sharp, keep you focused. And maybe the journey will teach you to restrain that temper of yours, hmm?" Eradan smiled mischievously at Jeroihan, who returned it in kind. "I doubt that very much indeed. Will that be all sir?" Eradan nodded and dismissed him, turning to greet more disapproving aristocrats while Jeroihan walked swiftly from the scene, scattering gaudy figures in his wake.

Jeroihan woke at dawn as he usually did, and started the laborious task of packing up his tent and equipment. He glanced around, noticing his men also rising from their torpor and preparing for the new day. He stole a glance towards the more elaborate tents of silk, unsurprised by the distinct lack of movement. A wicked thought of throwing water into the tests flashed across his mind and he grinned for a moment. He saddled his black mare, Gwaloth who whinnied and stamped her left hoof. Jeroihan raised an eyebrow before reaching into the saddlebag. "Fine" he sighed before pulling out an apple and his thick bladed knife. He cut the apple in two, giving half to the dark coated horse and bit into the other half himself before calling Corandor over. "Go wake them up, and make it clear it's not a question". Jeroihan pointed with the tip of his knife and Corandor trudged towards the tents, clearly not exultant about having to interact with the haughty nobles. Jeroihan turned to check on the rest of his men. Calathorn was busy teasing the oldest man present, the venerable Hagrabad. The other three, Harrisil, Perkerin and Torgathorn were congregated around a smoking fire preparing breakfast. Jeroihan had been told the Gondor nobles would be providing their own food, but the Rangers still needed to eat. Harrisil, the company's linguist and fountain of knowledge as the other liked to call him, was handing Torgathorn deftly skinned a rabbit while Perkerin, the youngest and the greenest man in the company, watched intently. Corandor prowled back over towards Jeroihan, his face dark. "You talk to them. I can't be bothered with them, boss." The Ranger headed towards the fire while Jeroihan growled and headed towards the Gondor camps. He stormed through the warren of tents, rounding one corner too quickly and crashing into a maid carrying a pile of washing. "For the love of the Valar, watch where you're going!" His temper died when he took a look at the timid servant on her hands and knees, hurriedly picking up the scattered washing. "I'm sorry, my lord it won't happen again…" Her pleas died off as she realised he was helping her pick up the debris of fabric and silk. "I apologise. I wasn't looking where I was going and I shouldn't have shouted. My name is Jeroihan and I am a Ranger of the North. May I ask you your name, miss?" She smiled and replied "My name is Ibaria Elentirmo, but everyone calls me Ruby." Jeroihan tilted his head and responded with a confused tone "Why do they call you Ruby?" She smiled again and removed the hood that covered her head, revealing stark crimson hair. "Well, it's obvious now isn't it?" Jeroihan grinned and Ruby giggled. "May I call you Ruby?" His dark green eyes glimmered as her hazel eyes glanced down. "You may call me whatever you like, my lord." He sighed melodramatically and crossed his arms before replying merrily "Jeroihan, not my lord. And I think I'd like to see you again, Miss Ruby, but first I have the jubilant task of rousing the witch and her companions. Good day." He dipped his head and walked on, smiling despite himself as he tried to think of the most non-violent way of waking the 'witch' and the rest of the lazy noblemen. His mood soured when he found his way to the more regal tents and a spear blocked his way. "Halt, none may pass." Jeroihan smirked at the formality of the statement, before brutally punching the guard in the face. The man slumped to the ground and Jeroihan continued on his path. He picked up a pair of pans from a startled maid and began to smash them against each other. He walked a small circuit around the handful of tents, stopping in front of the foremost tents and finished smashing the metal pans as he heard furious movement inside the tent. Lothelawen and Anarion emerged from the tent, fury painted across their features. Jeroihan's face remained impassive as he stated coldly "We leave in one hour. I expect not to have to wake you again." Before they could answer, he spun on his heel and walked swiftly back to his men.

As he returned to the clearing and the rest of his men, Jeroihan noticed that Calathorn and Corandor were also making their way back to the clearing with a small sack. They spotted Jeroihan and Corandor winked at him, withdrawing small, brightly coloured fruit from the sack and began handing them out. Perkerin held it in wonder, and asked "What is it?" Harrisil answered quickly and precisely, "It's an orange, Perkerin, its food. Although, I don't believe strawberries are part of our rations…" Corandor shrugged and replied "Judging by the size of their caravans, they're not going to miss a few oranges. It's like a king's banquet, wrapped in cloth. Decadent fools." The men laughed as Perkerin bit into the orange and spat in disgust. "You're meant to peel it first" Jeroihan chuckled and drew his knife, deftly slicing away the skin and threw the peeled fruit to Perkerin who bit into it very tentatively. He smiled and swallowed before speaking "Tastes better than the slop we're used to." Corandor scoffed loudly and flung his arms wide. "Maybe I'll get you some strawberries and cream on my next visit, to please your delicate palate my lord." Jeroihan looked in exasperation at Corandor, "You're joking. They can't be bringing such… such luxuries on a journey this long. They'll spoil before we even reach Rohan, especially if they're going to be this slow for the entire damn way." Jeroihan mounted Gwaloth and spurred her into a trot, the other Rangers following suit on their own steeds as the procession began to move across the plains of Gondor.

"So, where are we actually going?" Calathorn rode alongside his brother as the long train of carts, horses and men advanced steadily towards the realm of the horse-lords. "First we're going north, to Rohan, and then we're turning around and going to Mirkwood and Rivendell, then we're seeing the dwarves in the Iron Hills, and then we're going back south to Harad and Umbar." Calathorn looked at him in confusion and replied "South? They hate us down south." Jeroihan shrugged and glanced back at the large palanquin in the middle of the convoy. "They said we're going south, so that's we're going. Don't worry; they know a few words of Sindarin and a bit of Westron so we will able to talk to them. If not, Harrisil can interpret for us, I hope." Calathorn nodded his head towards Gwaloth "Her name's in Sindarin, isn't it? What is it?" Jeroihan smiled and patted her neck gently; she nickered in response. "It means Blossom, and before you ask, no the name wasn't my idea." Calathorn grinned cheekily before replying sarcastic "So whose idea was it then? The horse's?" Jeroihan rolled his eyes and shot back a reply "No, it was her name before I got her." He nodded his head towards Torgathorn, who was scouting ahead with Hagrabad and Perkerin. "Me and Torgathorn were in Rivendell on orders of the Steward. Lazy old man needed someone to fetch a sword. Anyway a pack of Wargs start attacking the stables. Me and Torgathorn stop them, but most of the horses are dead and the stable master's not far behind them. Anyway he gives me Gwaloth and Torgathorn asks for his daughter. She flat-out refused him and that's it." Calathorn scoffed and spurred his horse into a gallop, shouting over his shoulder "As if I'd believe that!" Jeroihan laughed and took a cursory glance back along the procession to check nothing was amiss. He caught Ruby's eye and he smiled and winked at her, before spurring Gwaloth to catch up with his brother.

The great hill fort of Edoras dominated the horizon as the envoy neared its first destination. The Rangers rode on ahead to announce their coming, and Jeroihan leant against a derelict stone wall with the rest of his men as the nobles from Gondor sauntered to Edoras. "They act as if they own the place." Calathorn moved to stand at his brother's side, testing the stone before committing to leaning. Jeroihan shrugged. "They might well think they do. This was all originally Gondor land. By the way, when we get to the Iron Hills, don't mention to the dwarves we've been here first. Now come, I think there's a tavern around here somewhere." Jeroihan moved away as the Gondor nobles entered Meduseld and began searching the sparse buildings for anything resembling a tavern, Calathorn in tow.

A few hours later, Jeroihan and the rest of the Rangers were singing and dancing with the Rohirrim natives to a lively tune, their merry attitude aided by the copious volume of mead and the general friendliness of their companions. Servants and guards of lower rank from the Gondor delegation had also found their way to the tavern and were enjoying the generosity of their hosts. Jeroihan drained a horn of mead and slammed it onto the table with a roar of triumph, to the jubilant cheers of those around him, when suddenly the music changed to a much slower rhythm. The people gradually gathered up into pairs and began to dance slowly, and Jeroihan saw Ruby across the room with a clutch of maids and other servants. He walked over and tapped her on the shoulder, extending his hand and smiling. She blushed, before taking it and following him into the wide space in the centre of the room where the rest of the couples were dancing. "Do you even know how to dance…?" Ruby giggled as Jeroihan laid a hand on her waist. "Of course I do. Do you?" Jeroihan grinned back and started to step in time with the music, Ruby falling in behind him. The dancing continued for a few hours before Ruby asked "Won't the masters be needing me soon?" Jeroihan shook his head dismissively "No, they'll be negotiating for a while yet. I don't know who's more calculating, them or Theoden. That man, Grima Wormtongue, hardly helps matters. He's a snake if I ever saw one." Ruby stopped moving for a minute, locked in thought before speaking softly "Then I'm not needed until tomorrow…" Jeroihan didn't answer; he simply lifted Ruby into his arms and carried her from the building, to the bawdy cheers of the intoxicated patrons.


	2. The Next Morning

Jeroihan stumbled out of his tent in the pre-dawn gloom, stretching out his tired muscles and cracking his knuckles. He yawned loudly and pulled a pair of apples from Gwaloth's saddle. Giving one to the horse, he unsheathed his knife and sliced a shard of flesh from the fruit. He popped the apple piece in his mouth and grabbed a stray bucket, heading for the small creek close to the camp outside the walls of Edoras. He filled the bucket to the brim and poured the icy water over his head, shivering slightly under the icy deluge. "It's a little cold for a bath, isn't it?" Jeroihan turned and saw Ruby in a modest night robe, leaning against the tree and smiling at him. "It's the best cure for a hangover." He grinned suddenly and stooped to fill the bucket again. Ruby noticed the mischievous glint in his eye and quickly took shelter behind the tree. "Don't even think about it!" She peered from around the tree as Jeroihan sighed sarcastically and reluctantly emptied the bucket. He grinned roguishly and walked back to the camp, Ruby in tow. He sat down inside his tent, and turned to see Ruby waiting outside. "I should really get back to my lords." Ruby glanced down as she spoke. Jeroihan lay back, his head resting in his hands as he replied. "Half an hour couldn't hurt lass." Ruby shook her head and smiled at him as she turned to leave. "I suppose I'll see you again tonight. If you're lucky" She turned her head to give him a smouldering look before she disappeared. Jeroihan smiled and relaxed, before falling back to sleep.

"Enjoy yourself last night brother?" Jeroihan opened one eye lazily as Calathorn peered in through his tent. "As a matter of fact I did. Are we leaving yet?" Jeroihan got up and out of the tent, stretching once again. Calathorn looked backwards over his shoulder. "Unlikely. It's not likely you to sleep for so long." Jeroihan smirked and began to get dressed. Calathorn crossed his arms and spoke again, his amusement colouring his tone. "So? Aren't you going to tell me anything at all?" Jeroihan stared at him and kept quiet, a smirk pulling at his mouth. "Fine, be like that." Calathorn rolled his eyes and walked off. Jeroihan sighed and called Harrisil over. "Go find out what the Gondor nobles are doing. I want to know when we need to move." Harrisil nodded and headed away from the rest of the Rangers. Hagrabad appeared behind him, speaking in the quiet manner he always did. "You expect to be moving soon, sir?" Jeroihan glanced at him, then back in the direction Harrasil had gone. He shook his head. "No. They'll have decided to help each other almost as soon as we got here. What's taking them so long is getting as much as they can out of the deal." Hagrabad shook his head. "That's hardly a way to treat another man sir. What's the world coming to?" Jeroihan shrugged. "It was easier when honour and dignity were as much a part of politics as double-crossing and treachery is. That was a long time ago though Hagrabad." The older Ranger looked quizzically at Jeroihan for a moment. "Why don't you become a king, sir? Even the right old Steward of Gondor must have started life as a whelp, even if it were the guts of a century ago." Jeroihan snorted in response. "The nobles would never accept a low-born like me, Hagrabad. They stare down their noses at us already. Tell the men to set some traps Hagrabad, and nock an arrow. We need to rustle up some breakfast and I'm not stealing a damned apple for a meal." The two Rangers unsheathed their bows and pulled up their dark green hoods. "Aye sir." Hagrabad nodded and smiled, before rushing to the centre of the camp and gathering the men to hunt.

An hour later, Corandor and Torgathorn were turning a small boar over a fire and Hagrabad was showing Perkerin show to properly pluck and skin a pheasant. Jeroihan and Calathorn were stood of the edge of the camp, keeping watch for Harrisil's return. Jeroihan had decided against sending Calathorn to find Harrisil, assuming the man's natural shrewdness would prove more effective than Calathorn's somewhat blunt tendencies. Lost in thought about what the men of Gondor were up to, he missed a shadow emerging in the distance. Calathorn punched him in the shoulder and told him "Wake up, Harrisil's back." As the man approached, Jeroihan and Calathorn moved to meet him. Harrisil was out of breath and keeled over before speaking. "They're done negotiating. They're getting ready to move right now sir." Jeroihan nodded before handing Harrisil a wineskin and said "Good work, there's a meal waiting at camp." Harrisil caught his breath and nodded before leaving. Jeroihan turned to Calathorn and scratched his jaw. "I wonder when they were going to tell us." Calathorn shrugged in response. "Probably as they were going. Where are we going next?" Jeroihan pointed north. "We're going to see the dwarves next. Get the men ready to move, we leave now."


	3. A Brief Encounter

**Apologies for the shortness of this update, the next one will be longer. More action was requested by a favourite fan of mine, so I will be trying to add more action into the story overall.**

Jeroihan leant back against the trunk of an ancient, gnarled tree as he waited for the rest of his cohort to catch up. It had been a few days since they had left Rohan and nothing yet had happened. He was beginning to grow bored. All the Rangers were, as they were forced to move at a frustrating pace and cater to the whims of the tyrannical nobles. Torgathorn had almost shot at Anarion when he turned his back after a particularly condescending comment, and Jeroihan had to forcefully reign the errant Ranger in. The atmosphere had been tense among the Rangers, and Jeroihan had tried to remedy this by sending them out in small groups to scout the Iron Hills. Nothing amiss had been reported, adding to the surmounting monotony. He toyed idly with a small dagger, until a booming call caught his attention. Corandor was shouting to him, a single word that both excited Jeroihan and filled him with dark hatred. "Orcs."

The men quickly took positions across from the approaching war band of Orcs, the Gondor infantry forming an unwavering line of silver armour, ten men across and five rows deep, while the Rangers waited behind them, bows drawn. The Orcs outnumbered the force of Men three times over, racing over the ground and bellowing coarse war cries. Jeroihan counted down the seconds until the Orcs would be in range, his grip tightening on the bowstring. The Orcs thundered across the imaginary line and the front rank fell with arrows protruding from their misshapen bodies. The horde stumbled in surprise, allowing the Rangers a few precious seconds to notch a second arrow and fire again. Another handful of Orcs fell; the rest began bellowing even louder and surged forward, smashing into the Gondor shield wall. Jeroihan shouted at his men to split and flank the sprawling mêlée, firing indiscriminately into the mass of Orcs. He noticed with grim approval the men of Gondor holding fast against the tide of enemies battering them with crude weapons and a few bearing rocks and thick branches. A large brute lumbered towards Jeroihan, only to be brought down with an arrow in its throat. Jeroihan didn't blink twice as he notched a new arrow and brought down another Orc, bawling in its foul tongue as the arrow pierced its heart. The inhuman creatures managed to sense the skirmish was lost and began to flee the battlefield in twos and threes until none remained.


	4. The Hunt

**I apologise for the tardiness of this update; I hope you enjoy it.**

The stone walls of the Dwarf hold stretched high into shadows as Jeroihan looked around absently, rooting through his pockets as he did so. He had acquired a pipe and leaf in Durin's Hall when the Men had arrived and had spent most of his time in the stone halls, either alone or with Ruby. The Dwarves were notoriously stubborn and Jeroihan had instructed the Rangers to relax now that they had time in abundance. He withdrew the pipe and some flint, lighting the leaf with a quick strike and turning on his heel to make for the library. Dwarven holds usually held tomes where the holds of Men did not, and while Jeroihan's Khuzdul was not as sharp as it once was, he understood enough of the words to make a rough translation of the works he read. He occasionally met Harrisil within the great library, and he wondered if he'd run into the man again. A Dwarf grabbed his wrist suddenly, breaking his reverie. "Come Longshanks, something afoot." Jeroihan sighed and blew out the smouldering pipe, following the Dwarf's jog with a swift walk. The Dwarf led him through many cramped tunnels until they arrived in another large stone hall where a gathering of Dwarves met Jeroihan. One stepped forward and spoke in a gruff tone "I am Farin, son of Gorin. And I am told you speak for the Rangers that came here with the rest of the Men-Folk." Jeroihan nodded and replied solemnly "I am Jeroihan, son of ancient Númenor. And aye, the Rangers answer to me, master Dwarf. I presume you have a favour to ask of us then." Farin nodded curtly and spoke again, gesturing for a map to be brought forward. "The Dwarves of these Iron Hills cannot speak for our entire peoples, so your emissaries will be taken to Erebor, or the Lonely Mountain in your tongue. Our halls will be weakened while they are escorted there, so you must join us in routing the Orcs that infest these hills." Farin spat the word Orc out like poison before continuing. "Besides, I was raised with tales of Dunedain fighting skill and I want to see it with my own two eyes before I return to the stone." Jeroihan nodded and studied the large map, paying attention to the marked positions of the Orcs. He noticed a tight ravine in close proximity to several large Orc bands. "You and your warriors will form a shield wall here, while my companions and I will lead all the Orcs in the area to that spot. Once there, we will wipe them from the face of this world." Farin smiled and nodded, shouting for the Dwarves to ready themselves while Jeroihan left in search of the Rangers and Ruby.

Jeroihan leant against a cold stone pillar with his pipe in hand as he waited for Ruby to emerge from the cavernous hold. A servant had promised to find her for him and he had sent Calathorn to rouse the rest of the Rangers at the main gate. Light footsteps caught his attention and he looked up to see Ruby hurrying towards him. He smiled and drew her into a gentle embrace, his brow furrowing as he felt a tension in her. He pulled back and saw disquiet in her eyes. "What is it?" His question provoked a strained reply. "There's talk of a battle coming up. I don't want you to go." Jeroihan scoffed a response. "It's hardly going to be a battle. It'll be a killing of a few Orcs and then I'll be back, safe and sound. I promise." Ruby relaxed a little and ventured a brief smile, reaching up on the balls of her feet to plant a kiss on his cheek. "I'll hold you to that, Ranger." A little of her spirit returned as she quickly left to preform her duties. Jeroihan grinned and inhaled a large breath through the pipe. He watched the small cloud of smoke form as he exhaled, before he paced towards the main gate to wait for his companions to muster.

"Orcs. Three hundred paces south-west." Hagrabad pointed in the direction of the fire and the primitive camps that housed their quarries. Jeroihan nodded and signalled for bows to be drawn. To him, the low screech of the strings being pulled back was almost deafening, but he knew there was no possibility of the Orcs hearing. He nodded slowly, and the Rangers crept forward like ghosts through the dense bushes towards the Orcs. At two hundred paces, the Rangers began to take careful aim. At one hundred paces, they stopped and fired. Seven Orcs dropped and a cacophonous cry tore its way from a thousand Orc throats. The Rangers fired again and began to slink away, firing as they went. Eventually the Orcs pinpointed the direction of the deadly arrows and hastily grabbed crude weapons and raced after the unseen threat. The Rangers sheathed their bows and ran towards the ravine where the three hundred dwarf warriors waited with grim faces and bared axes. "Your turn, master Dwarf. Don't worry, this is the easy part." Jeroihan grinned at Farin, who chuckled a reply "Good job, laddie. I'll be sure to leave some Orcs for you." Jeroihan raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? I'll wager more Orcs fall by my hand than yours by the end of the day." Farin's booming laughter echoed across the tight ravine. "A bet it is then. Here they come." The horde of Orcs began to funnel into the narrow battlefield and thundered towards the dwarf shield wall. The impact of the charge echoed loudly, but the dwarves held and struck back with furious retribution. The sound of battle resounded in Jeroihan's ears as he continued to fire arrows into the roiling mass of Orcs, counting the number of kills in his head. He heard Farin shout from across the battle. "I have six so far laddie! Beat that, Man-ling!" Jeroihan smiled and shouted back, without breaking his rate of fire. "I have eleven. You're falling behind Farin." Farin didn't reply, but Jeroihan heard a deep bellow and knew Farin had charged into the fray, eager to raise his tally. Jeroihan rolled his eyes and drew his sword, hacking his way towards the dwarf, finding Farin surrounding by misshapen corpses. "Fourteen now Longshanks!" Jeroihan dispatched a pair of Orcs with a couple of precise blows and stepped in line next to the dwarf. "Good, you're only five behind now." The Man and the Dwarf grinned at each other and swung at the closest Orcs, each determined to outdo the other before the battle was over.

The march back to the Iron Hills hall was filled with boisterous mirth and cheering from both Dwarf and Ranger. Jeroihan had beaten Farin by thirty-two kills to twenty-six, however the Dwarf's spirit was un-dampened and he had sworn to beat him next time. An elderly Dwarf was waiting by the main gate and Farin strolled over to converse. Jeroihan spied on the conversation, concern marring his features as Farin's voice lowered to a more serious tone and he cursed his ignorance of the Dwarfish tongue. Farin caught his gaze and excused himself, walking over as he toyed with his beard. "It seems we have a problem laddie." Farin shouted for the Dwarves to remain at the gate before returning to Jeroihan. "So, what's the problem?" Jeroihan tensed as he awaited the Dwarf's reply. Farin sighed and spoke "Your Gondor nobles never arrived at Erebor. We have scouts prowling the hills looking for them, but I reckon we need a Ranger for this." Jeroihan swore loudly, causing those present to stare in his direction. The Rangers gathered around him, Calathorn asking "What's going on? What's happened?" Jeroihan took a while to answer, mind paralysed with worry. Ruby had been travelling with the nobles. His clear tone masked his inner turmoil as he answered "It seems the fools from Gondor are in a spot of bother. And we have to go fetch them. Don't get comfortable, we're moving out again."


	5. Heart of Darkness

**Once again I must apologise for the lengthy update time, but time is not an abundant commodity of late. It'll get better soon I promise. **

The morning dew still clung tentatively to the grass as the Rangers swept silently across the glade. Jeroihan halted and crouched to inspect a fresh footprint. It was an Orc track, and he cursed under his breath. Calathorn noticed it too and spoke up. "Orcs don't take prisoners, brother. They're gone." Jeroihan bit back a hateful reply, and pointed to a shallow groove next to the track. "Those are drag marks. Why would they drag bodies back to their camo if they weren't still alive?" Calathorn shrugged and replied "To eat later? I don't know what to tell you, but Ruby is gone." Jeroihan sighed and stood up, replying quietly "Perhaps you're right, tell the men to turn back, we're…" A snapped twig caught Jeroihan's ears, as it did with the rest of the Rangers who swiftly drew their bows and aimed in the direction of the sound. A wheezing dwarf charged through the underground, stopping as he saw the Rangers. He bent over to catch his breath, before spluttering to Jeroihan "Farin… wants to see you… that way." Jeroihan nodded and through the dwarf a water skin, who caught it and nodded in appreciation. The group then moved in the direction the dwarf had pointed in, until they reached the ridge of a large hill where Farin and a company of dwarves were waiting. Farin pointed over the crest of the hill and whispered "Over there laddie. Orcs." Jeroihan stole a look in the direction Farin pointed and ducked back down. The entrance to a Dwarven mine was dug into the ground, a great pit carved into the landscape. Signs of Orcish influence stained the land haphazardly around the entrance. Filthy camps crawling with misshapen forms and piles of carcasses dotted the horizon and dark smoke corrupted the virgin sky. Jeroihan signalled for the Rangers to move and nodded to Farin. He nodded back and the dwarves slunk towards the mine in single file, readying their fierce war axes as they crept forwards. Jeroihan signalled for the Rangers to move as well, slinking like shadows after the Dwarves with drawn bows. The Orcs furthest from the mine were taken down silently with precise bow fire, allowing the Dwarves to close with the entrance and delve into the Orc infested mine with the Rangers in tow.

Jeroihan squinted in the gloom and kept a tight grip on his sword. The Dwarves' natural vision was far more accustomed to the darkness than his own, and he had asked Farin to take point and lead the party through the darkness. He had called for no torches to be lit, to prevent the Orcs from noticing them too early and despite grumbling from a couple of the Rangers, and not a few Dwarves, he still pressed the importance of remaining undetected for as long as possible. As they hurried down another long tunnel, Farin signalled to stop and pulled Jeroihan to the tunnel's exit. A grand hall with a large fire awaited the pair, with Orcs covering every inch of the stone floor. Jeroihan scanned the space and noticed a pair of trolls guarding crude cages. He could hear Lothelawen calling out threats to the Orcs closest to the cage and saw the twins skulking in the shadows. In the other cage was Anarion and a few scraps of flesh and bone. Jeroihan turned back and whispered to Farin, "You and your Dwarves take the trolls, I'll take the chieftain. When he dies, most of the Orcs should panic and run. You'll follow the walls to the left until you reach the cages, when you do we'll move." Farin nodded and the pair returned to their men to relay the plan.

The Rangers crept into place, all taking aim at the largest Orc in the centre of the hall. Jeroihan watched motionless as the Dwarves moved towards the trolls, axes covered in dirt and dust to hide their gleam in the twitching shadows from the fire. He pulled back a little harder on the bowstring as Farin neared the monstrous beasts, waiting for him to sink his axe into tough troll-hide and distracting the Orcs so the Rangers could safely strike. He watched the Dwarves raise their weapons, and the next few seconds passed as a blur. As the trolls bellowed in agony, the Rangers downed the Orc chieftain in a flight of arrows and a new type of anarchy spread throughout the hall. Jeroihan shot blindly into the throng of Orcs, noticing Farin pulling the four captives from their primitive prisons, and called for his men to alter their aim and clear a path for the Dwarves to escape. The deadly arrows formed a small corridor that the Dwarves cleaved their way through, bestial howls and grim war cries filling the air. Farin was the last Dwarf to reach the exit and the Rangers began to pull back down the long dark tunnel to the mine's exit.

"Slow down Ranger!" Jeroihan swore under his breath and turned to see Lothelawen scowling at him. "What now, milady?" Jeroihan tried to hide his contempt but Lothelawen was not fooled and shot back, "You know full well what. We can't move as fast as you. We are used to more civilised activities, not sprinting through the woods like savages." Jeroihan smirked and replied as blankly as he could, "The Dwarves can keep up and they've got shorter legs than we have." Farin raised an eyebrow at Jeroihan and returned his half-smile as Lothelawen stared daggers at them both. "Well my companions and I need to rest. We'll camp…" Lothelawen's speech was cut off as Jeroihan hoisted her onto his shoulder and took off at a light jog. "Put me down this instant! I order you to put me down now!" This is highly undignified and extremely unpleasant!" Jeroihan replied quickly as he leapt a fallen tree "I do beg your pardon milady, I was not built for comfort. Now please shut up, there's still Orcs about."


	6. A Ranger's Heart

Lothelawen trudged forward and let out an exaggerated sigh, looking back at Jeroihan who was the group's rear-guard. He was walking backwards, bow drawn and did not turn to look at her. "What is it now?" She brushed off his impatient tone and retorted "We should make a camp and form a plan. We're wandering in the middle of nowhere with Orcs everywhere and its getting dark." Jeroihan relaxed his aim and turned to glare at her. "I know exactly where we are, and when it gets dark I'll be able to use the stars to navigate. Stop complaining and carry on walking." Lothelawen crossed her arms and snapped back "First of all, Ranger, don't speak to me as you would a child. Secondly, you're not leading, your brother is. So it doesn't matter if you know where we are. Why is he deciding where we go, I thought that was the job you commandeered?" He carried on walking past her and she rushed to catch up. "He's leading because he needs to learn how. If I'm killed, he takes over command. And no, it's not nepotism, he's just the most suited to lead. Harrisil's not ardent enough, Hagrabad's too old and Perkerin's too young. Torgathorn's qualities aren't suited to leadership and neither are Corandor's. So that's why Calathorn is leading." Lothelawen remained quiet for a moment, and then spoke up softly "But you can't die." Jeroihan turned and stared at her, looking into her golden-brown eyes. He asked gently "Why not?" Lothelawen glanced away and paused, before regaining her former defiant attitude. "Because you're a Ranger, and Rangers are supposed to be tough. Where's your brother leading us then?" Jeroihan responded quickly "To a tunnel entrance close to this place. Farin and a detachment of Dwarves will meet us there and accompany us to Mirkwood. Any more questions princess?" She scowled at him and spat back "Don't call me that. And you're bringing dwarves into Mirkwood? It's hardly your brightest plan, Numenorean." Jeroihan shook his head in annoyance and turned his back to her. "The elves have agreed to meet on the edge of the forest, as long as the dwarves aren't present at the meeting." She gazed at the ground as they continued to walk, her anger cooling as she spoke again. "Will you be present?" He replied curiously "It's not likely, why?" Lothelawen considered her answer carefully before replying prudently "I was just curious. Can we please stop?" Jeroihan rolled his eyes and muttered "Fine." As he shouted up to Calathorn to hold, Lothelawen found the least dirty patch of ground she could and sat down, watching the Rangers set up the camp and remaining oblivious to Anarion crashing down next to her until he spoke in her ear. "Stop talking to that Ranger. He's beneath us." Lothelawen glanced down and nodded, and began the task at finding something to look at besides Jeroihan.

Calathorn dropped into a crouch and crept through the thick brush the way his older brother had taught him. Jeroihan had told him to find Farin and the Dwarves and bring them back to the temporary camp the Rangers had set up. He struggled to remember all the training he'd received from his fellow Rangers; how to move without a trace, how to stay alert to every sound and how to cling to the shadows to avoid the wandering gaze of a potential enemy. Jeroihan had already made an impression on the Dwarves, with Farin accrediting him with "the eyes of a hawk, and the ears of a fox", and Calathorn had resolved to earn similar praise. He paused suddenly, a faint noise reaching his ears. He broke into a run, racing through the tangled undergrowth until he chanced upon a clearing heaving with a running battle. The small Dwarven party were standing resolute against shifting waves of Goblins, shields locked and axes slick with dark blood. Calathorn scanned the horde for the inevitable banner, and the leader that accompanied it. He tugged back the bowstring back, three fingers below the arrow as he'd been taught. Hand resting under the chin, back straight, eye level with the shaft of the arrow. Calathorn inhaled sharply and released the string.


End file.
